The Genre of Despair

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

The quotation above from H. P. Lovecraft is perhaps symptomatic of a larger trend in the public consciousness. We have seen the horrors of reality, the apocalypse is nigh, so let us sink into forgetting and thoughtlessness before the end. Popular entertainment has always been a way of forgetting one’s troubles, and in the literary world, popular entertainment most often comes under the heading of genre fiction.

It has been lamented for some time that serious literary fiction is on the wane. Whereas just a few generations before, a Hemingway or Fitzgerald were household names even in subliterate households, few with a similar level of education today could tell you who Jonathan Franzen or David Foster Wallace might be. Such a decline is often attributed to literary fiction no longer speaking to ordinary human concerns. This is an odd argument, considering that few of the novels of Hemingway or Fitzgerald would be said to mirror the daily life of the average person. Yet, they still have a semblance to reality. This cannot be said of genre fiction however, which if anything rebels against the substance of real life.

Lovecraft, whose intent was to emulate anything other than real life, developed a philosophical worldview he termed Cosmic Horror—a worldview in which the centuries-old anthropocentric universe was overturned in light of recent scientific discovery and replaced with the revelation of our collective inconsequence. Humanity, which long saw itself the measure of all things, was uncovered for the less-than-divine thing it is. Mankind, it appears, was but the byproduct or mistake of greater alien forces that had come to this world long before us and would soon return, like the second advent of Christ but with even less pleasant consequences.

But Lovecraft is not a special case, for escapism is at the heart of all genre fiction. Literary fiction is hard, it requires effort to appreciate fully. It does not allow us to disappear passively into a narrative because literature gives us tools with which to deal with life. Genre fiction, on the other hand, is above all an escape from life. It is then no surprise that this medium has always been complementary to conservative thought. We have but to mention Lovecraft again and recall his xenophobia and horrifying racist comments to understand the allure of escaping reality to such individuals. But horror is not alone. Dystopian tales help destroy the notion of progress. Fantasy, a term that says it all, allows readers to return to a postulated golden age, and an idealized human nature. Even science fiction is not immune. One only need examine the social and political views of M. R. James, J.R.R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, or Orson Scott Card to see a well established pattern.

Of course, this is not to deny that such fiction cannot be art. If the author creates an entirely new genre such as Lovecraft did, if it shows original elaboration on a theme or presents an intensely personal vision, the limitations of genre can be overcome. The mere imitators who come after—and these make up the bulk of what goes by the name genre fiction today—typically represent a degeneration of the original. Like a copy of a copy, they become merely pastiches of the genuine article they seek to emulate.

It is also important to remember that escapism is not an entirely bad thing. However, it often appears that escapism is the only thing at the present moment that such entertainment is expected to provide. This would appear to indicate a society deeply disinterested, even passionately opposed, to reality. Is it possible such a development is reflective of a deeper despair in the society at large? Perhaps reality has become something too hard to endure without an opiate for the masses.

At the end of the Roman Empire, the historian Ammianus Marcellinus reflected upon the general decline of culture in his age:

[H]ouses which were formerly celebrated for the serious cultivation of becoming studies, are now filled with … ridiculous amusements … reechoing with the sound of vocal music and the tinkle of flutes and lyres. Lastly, instead of a philosopher, you find a singer … and the libraries closed for ever, like so many graves.[1]

With libraries closing throughout the country and humanities departments losing more of their funding every day, it’s as if Ammianus was talking about us.

The fall of Rome coincided with the rise of Christianity, a religion that put an emphasis upon the life to come when we will shed our material selves for a perfect spiritual self. This idea is echoed in St. Augustine’s City of God, which argued that the spiritual city will inevitably win out over the city of man since man’s city is temporary whereas the city of God is eternal. The desire to escape what seemed to be a hopeless and dying world was the impetus for Christianity's rise. Are we repeating the same pattern again? For the early Christians, a mood of despair gave rise by an accident of history to productive action. Our modern passion for escape and diversion, by contrast, shows no sign of evolving to meet reality. A nascent theology of hope for the dispossessed became the glue of social cohesion for that era we call the dark ages. If we should have another dark age (and there are many who argue that with growing ecological disasters and another economic collapse just around the bend we may live to see one), it seems unlikely that the adventures of Harry Potter or Game of Thrones will be enough to pull us through to the light.

Lancelot Kirby is a freelance writer from southern Ohio. He has had work published in Philosophy For Business, Secular Nation, The Humanist, and History magazine. He blogs at polymathfromportsmouth.blogspot.com.

Comments

“Genre fiction, on the other hand, is above all an escape from life. It is then no surprise that this medium has always been complementary to conservative thought.”

This is not a new critique of “genre fiction,” and it is still not a valid one either. For every Orson Scott Card or C.S. Lewis in the various speculative genres there’s a Samuel Delaney or an Ursula LeGuin. LeGuin, as a particular example, wrote the classic novel The Dispossessed, exploring (sympathetically) the conundrums and tensions within a possible anarcho-socialist society. George Orwell was a dedicated democratic socialist; 1984 was hardly a denouncement of the notion or possibility of progress but rather a warning against reactionary totalitarianism in the guise of progress (specifically a critique of Stalin’s ascendancy).

Moore’s Utopia is often cited as a possible early forerunner of science (or “speculative”) fiction (Plato’s Republic is also floated as an early work of spec fic), precisely because fantasy and science fiction have allowed a space for dramatic and allegorical retellings of contemporary social ideas and conflicts as well as satire and criticism. Far from being escapist, critical fiction like Huxley’s Brave New World or Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale allow us to put pressing social issues into a stark relief, to make the old new again in a sense and shake the reader free from their preconceptions through the artistic conceit of an alien world that ultimately highlights the dangers and contradictions of our own.

Even among arguably right-libertarian authors like Neal Stephenson or Robert Heinlein you can find much more complicated worldviews than the simplistic left-right/progressive-conservative caricatures essays like this tend to evoke. Heinlein’s Stranger In A Strange Land, while dated now, was a foundational text during the sexual revolution. Despite Heinlein’s apparent personal politics, his novel The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress goes out of its way to suggest and explore a range of anti-authoritarian political ideas, speaking out more against arbitrary authority and the status quo than it ever does propose a single, absolute political solution. His earlier unpublished novel For Us, The Living explores a possible future including the decidedly un-right idea of a guaranteed minimum income.

Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Avalon and Darkover novels have all been recognized as presenting challenging feminist themes. H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine is a clear allegory for class warfare, rooted in his strong personal progressive and socialist attitudes. A very brief look into modern cyberpunk authors like William Gibson, Cory Doctorow, or genre godfather Rudy Rucker, makes very plain that “genre fiction” is hardly dominated by regressives or conservative voices. Controversial celebrity author George R.R. Martin was one of many authors conspicuously arguing against the reactionary Sad Puppy lobby in last years Hugo Award nominations (http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2015/aug/24/diversity-wins-as-the-sad-puppies-lose-at-the-hugo-awards), making explicit the conflict between the broader spec-fic community and the (overt, at least) conservative branch of the genre.

From Mary Shelley to Douglas Adams and Iain Banks, the ranks of fantasy and science fiction authors have always been populated by a broad range of visionaries, iconoclasts, and serious social critics, not only from one end of the political spectrum but even standing entirely apart and critiquing our fundamental social and political concepts. Reducing all genre fiction and authors to conservative escapism is only possible through a woeful ignorance of the genre or an intentionally skewed set of examples.

Thank you for such a long reply. My intent was not to imply that all genre fiction was somehow bad. If you read closely I do defend some forms of genre fiction as art (I am personally a great admirer of H. P. Lovecraft.) Nor do I wish to imply that all writers of genre fiction are conservative, if not deranged. I am merely commenting on a general trend in society, founded upon the observation of the decline of serious literary fiction, that appears to seek a form of pure escapism. As for originality, I will let Goethe speak for me: “All truly wise thoughts have been thoughts already thousands of times; but to make them truly ours, we must think them over again honestly, till they take root in our personal experience.”

Extremely well stated defense of genre fiction.
It is precisely this type of fiction that has the freedom to strip away the “real” world and create an efficient crucible for the close examination of various philosophical viewpoints.
Genre fiction can do this while being entertaining and feed the cultural needs of escapism and adventure.
What I think is the true power of genre fiction is precisely its ability to draw reader to its pages.
Of course the twin siren songs of publishing and financial gain can pull even the most serious authors into the production of vacuuous drivel.
That doesn’t bother me at all if it continues to fuel more meaningful works and encourages new voices to be heard.

Thank you for such a long reply. My intent was not to imply that all genre fiction was somehow bad. If you read closely I do defend some forms of genre fiction as art (I am personally a great admirer of H. P. Lovecraft.) Nor do I wish to imply that all writers of genre fiction are conservative, if not deranged. I am merely commenting on a general trend in society, founded upon the observation of the decline of serious literary fiction, that appears to seek a form of pure escapism. As for originality, I will let Goethe speak for me: “All truly wise thoughts have been thoughts already thousands of times; but to make them truly ours, we must think them over again honestly, till they take root in our personal experience.”

Edward Gibbon for one, but it is a common enough thesis among historians, and not one that I necessarily defend, though is a reasonable enough interpretation. Robin Lane Fox’s book Pagans and Christians makes similar arguments.

Gibbon’s argument is as popular today, on the internet, as it was when he first presented it, and for the same rhetorical and polemical purposes. Atheists like everyone else must have their myths. But it is not, I assure you, the standard interpretation among professional historians. Most would reject it, since, perhaps not surprisingly, historical research has come a long way since the 18th century. If you can support your position, however – that is, with citations – I invite you to do it.

Whether or not you wish to accept it, this is the message of St. Augustine’s City of God. Early Christianity was heavily influenced by the philosophy of Plato who taught that the material world was of little consequence. If a citation will appease you here is one:

I would again also refer you to Robin Lane Fox’s classic study “Pagans and Christians”. Lastly, although I am indeed an atheist, my argument was actually meant to be complementary to Christians, not negative as you seem to have interpreted it. I was actually complimenting them for finding a way to deal with the harsh realities of their age, my point being that Christianity provided something more substantial for life than the escapism of our present age.

John Fowles wrote excellent literary fiction that was popular (on occasion). Likewise Faulkner. Hemingway, Dickens and many others produced great novels that weren’t difficult but of literary merit. Literary fiction is probably a genre of its own: self-reflectivity and articulate immobility.

We probably do need a revival of some kind of monastery (though I would prefer not celibate). Places that are self-sufficient, served the local community and had an ordered social life (not great by our standards but that endured for more than a millennia: the reason probably being a commitment to a shared way of seeing things).

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